


Legacies

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Forgotten Third Years, Gen, Good Senpais, seijou fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Every member of the Seijou volleyball club knows what this day means — especially for the third years on the team who are acutely aware that this will be their last chance to be given a jersey and a real chance to play.But when the numbers hit fifteen and his name isn’t called, Sawauchi can’t swallow past the regret and shame wadded up in his throat. His gaze strays over to the shaking first year clutching the Number Twelve jersey to his chest with tears in his eyes. Three years of blood, sweat, and tears are wrapped up in that image, and Sawauchi thinks it will be burned into his brain forever.





	Legacies

**Author's Note:**

> This was my contribution to the Seijoh Third Years zine. I got my choice of any gen relationship, so I picked three tol middle blocker noodle boys.

Sawauchi listens with his eyes squeezed shut as Coach Mizoguchi calls out names and numbers for the final Interhigh roster. His hands ball into fists and and his shoulders ache from the tension that has followed him around since he woke up, since he first set foot in Aobajousai High School. Every member of the Seijou volleyball club knows what this day means — especially for the third years on the team who are acutely aware that this will be their last chance to be given a jersey and a real chance to play.

But when the numbers hit fifteen and his name isn’t called, Sawauchi can’t swallow past the regret and shame wadded up in his throat. His gaze strays over to the shaking first year clutching the Number Twelve jersey to his chest with tears in his eyes. Three years of blood, sweat, and tears are wrapped up in that image, and Sawauchi thinks it will be burned into his brain forever.

The coaches leave them to their own devices and Oikawa talks, but Sawauchi can’t hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat hammering in his ears. He abruptly rejoins reality when a familiar hand falls on his shoulder with Matsukawa’s lopsided smile right behind it. 

“Hey, Moto, you wanna get out of here before Oikawa starts crying and Iwaizumi dropkicks him or something?” He gives the exit doors a pointed glance, and Sawauchi understands.

“Oh, uh, sure.” Sawauchi gives a wet sniffle and bumps his shoulder into Matsukawa’s, grateful for the chance to escape. 

Matsukawa Issei is someone Sawauchi has always understood and also liked. In the same class all three years of high school, they have been easy companions since the day they both signed up for the volleyball club. Matsukawa is funny in a nihilistic sort of way, his dark humor drawing their classmates’ attention when it probably shouldn’t.

Yet when they step onto a volleyball court, their differences manifest in ways Sawauchi can’t ignore.

They both came to Seijou as middle blockers, but where Sawauchi battled and bled and busted his ass in a futile quest just to dress for a match, Matsukawa’s keen natural instinct and razor sharp analytical skills have cemented his spot as a starter. They know the same techniques, work equally hard, have the same homework waiting for practice that they shrug off more than not.

However the difference remains, Sawauchi marks with a sigh as he drops to his seat in the grass behind the gymnasium. Matsukawa sits beside him while Sawauchi idly plucks at blades of grass.

Finally, Matsukawa breaks the silence. “He’s a good kid, Kindaichi.” When Sawauchi makes no sound of acknowledgement, he adds, “He’s smart and knows how to work, even if he’s awkward as hell.”

Sawauchi lets a fistful of grass trickle from his hand and deflates. “Yeah, I know.”

Piece by piece, Matsukawa assembles a puzzle depicting everything Sawauchi doesn’t want to hear about the ichinen who beat him out for a roster spot: that the kid’s old setter is some sort of hellspawn, that he’ll probably be a captain and needs the on-court experience to lead the team in the future.

But Sawauchi listens anyway. Without Matsukawa saying as much, he knows what his new role is, and he’ll be damned if he won’t rise to the challenge.

Sawauchi Motomu is going to turn his spindly kouhai into the best damned middle blocker in Miyagi, no matter what it takes.

Matsukawa shoots him a lazy, crooked smile. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sawauchi lists into Matsukawa’s shoulder, sending him sprawling into the grass, and they both get a laugh at that.

  
  


“Again!” Sawauchi calls, clapping his hands together as a raggedly panting Kindaichi resets for another repetition of an exhausting drill.

To the kid’s credit, Kindaichi does exactly as instructed. He jumps up for the block as Yuuda spikes past his outstretched fingers, dashes back to touch the attack line while Watari receives and then running up to hit Yahaba’s setup. Sawauchi has long lost count of how many of these reps he’s put Kindaichi through, but the more he watches, the more he finds Matsukawa’s words from the other day hard to ignore.

Kindaichi  _ is _ good. Even as he wheezes for air, he strains to make each move sharper than the last, jump higher than before, and hit harder every time. His blocking technique needs work, but his raw skills are promising.

One more rep passes before Sawauchi nods toward the benches. “Hey, take a break before you die, kid.”

His pupil gives no argument, and he slumps into his seat, hairdo rapidly wilting. However, instead of prodding Kindaichi back on the floor, Sawauchi sits next to him and hums. “You ready for the list?”

Kindaichi blanches and buries his face in his towel. Sawauchi chortles and claps him on the shoulder. “Relax. I know middle school was bad. I’m not here to bust your balls or tell you how much you suck.”

When Kindaichi doesn’t object, Sawauchi continues. “First thing, I’d say you’re standing too far away from the net. With your slow run-up that extra step is the difference between stuffing some hotshot ace and him blowing right past you. With your height, you can get a piece of just about anything if you can trim the fat and make your movements more compact.”

“Yeah, I know.” There is a bitterness in Kindaichi’s voice that belies the shy kid he had met in the locker room at the club’s first practice of the year. “That’s what  _ he _ said. A lot.”

Sawauchi doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Instead, he offers, “Your swing is good, and your fingers aren’t too hard or soft in your blocks. Just work on your reaction time coming up to the net and your reads, and you could give that Frankenstein-looking dude from Datekou a run for his money.”

Kindaichi’s face scrunches in question, but some of the tension slips out of his shoulders as he drains his water bottle. 

Knocking on the bench, Sawauchi says, “Looks like we’re huddling up for the end of practice. C’mon.” Kindaichi offers him a watery smile and they head for the team meeting.

A half hour later, Sawauchi finds himself lingering in the shower long after most of his teammates have left. Perhaps the hot water will melt away that niggling mantle of inadequacy that comes with knowing the first year who got a place in the lineup over him utterly deserves to have it. 

When he emerges, Sawauchi finds the locker room empty save for one of his teammates sitting fully dressed on a bench, arms crossed as he meets Sawauchi’s gaze.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sawauchi wearily treads over to his bag and starts dressing. “I’m trying, man.”

“I know.” 

Sawauchi buttons the fly of his uniform trousers before letting his hands fall limp at his sides. “He really  _ is  _ good. Getting better by the minute.”

Matsukawa doesn’t reply, and he quietly follows Sawauchi out of the changing room once he’s dressed. Shame lingers once his moment of pettiness in the shower dissipates, but that dies down, too. They meander past their regular bus stop until they wind up in a nearly forgotten but very familiar place.

“I forgot about this.” Sawauchi’s eyes linger on the alley between a hair salon and a bar, a clothesline laden with aprons running between the buildings at almost perfect height for a volleyball net. The same stack of wooden crates still sits next to the bar’s back door — probably not the same ones the two of them had stood on taking turns setting up the other for blocking practice, but they may as well be. “It’s like we never left.”

He starts when he hears a familiar voice whine, “Can I just go home?”

Kunimi, Sawauchi places after a few weeks’ worth of practices with the first years. He almost expects the reply that comes with it.

“Just a few more. I think I’m getting it.” He spies Kindaichi’s lanky outline hauling Kunimi to his feet, toeing a crate over to the ‘net’. “Five. Give me five.”

“Yeah, whatever. Fine.”

Sawauchi glances over to find Matsukawa observing the two of them intently, a smile lingering on his lips. “That was us a few years ago,” Matsukawa murmurs.

“Nah.” Sawauchi rolls his eyes and elbows Matsukawa. “I think Kindaichi’s actually better than you were.”

“Probably.” Matsukawa’s smile breaks into a grin. “Hey, you wanna go hang out with the kids?” With that, he hails the first year duo.

Kindaichi waves at Sawauchi with a broad smile. “Sawauchi-senpai, I think I got it now!” He nudges Kunimi into action, and Sawauchi watches wide-eyed as Kindaichi does the five sharpest reps he’s done all day, each better than the last. Once he completes them, Kindaichi drops to a bow to Sawauchi. “Thank you.”

Sawauchi bites his lip to stop it from wobbling. “You’re welcome.” He breaks out into a grin and snatches the ball off the pavement. “Don’t worry, I still have a lot more to teach you.” He hikes the ball to Kunimi, who reluctantly complies and Sawauchi executes the same drill with the ease and skill of years’ worth of practice. 

As he resets to do it again, he catches Matsukawa’s thumbs-up and completes the next rep a whole lot lighter.


End file.
